


on a sidewalk in brightmoon

by thehonorablewangfire



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora is in Love with Catra (She-Ra), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Catra Is Actually Not That Angry Anymore, Chance Meetings, Disabled Catra, F/F, Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Neurotic Adora, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reconciliation, This is my first fic so please don't kill me, This may or may not have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehonorablewangfire/pseuds/thehonorablewangfire
Summary: Adora looks – really looks – at Catra, and sees everything she missed the first time. Scars everywhere, on her face, her scalp, her neck, her hands, a burn scar right below her collarbone. She remembers Ms. Weaver and how she treated her and Catra and the other kids, borderline abusive and a nightmare of a woman. How she protected Catra when she could. How she wasn’t there to protect Catra anymore. And then it hits her.orCatra hates Adora so much that she talks to her like a normal person. Until she can't.ON HIATUS
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 194
Kudos: 254
Collections: dianatyrbo she-ra





	1. perennial

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first fic. like, ever. i've written stories before, but never based on another's work. so this is new for me. anyway, i love this fandom, this pairing, and how absolutely goddamn difficult their relationship is when it shouldn't be, so this is me giving catradora the ole college try. if you like it, please let me know. if you don't, also let me know.

_"Veins die and I fantasize to find hurt another way"_

-Courtney LaPlante

* * *

Adora prides herself on her routine. It’s a thing with her. She does not deviate, and she does not allow for loss of time or productivity. This is ingrained into her by years of maintaining the routine. She gets up at the same time every weekday, fixes her coffee, gets ready for work, is out the door, on the subway, and in her office at exactly the same times every day, without fail. As stated before, it’s a thing with her. She’s nothing if not fixated.

So it’s an ill omen indeed when she wakes to find her alarm clock (read: cell phone, because _honestly_ , who even has actual alarm clocks these days?) dead and disconnected from its charger. A normal person would simply overreact to this in a rational manner: _SHIT, I’m late. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck I’m late. Okay, skip the shower for today, no coffee, out the door, let’s go._ This is the normal response.

Adora does not do that.

What Adora does is scream into her pillow for several minutes before calling her office and telling them she’s taking a sick day. Her reasoning: _If I’m going to be late, I might as well not go at all_. They don’t give her grief for it. She’s taken three sick days in the four years she’s worked for the _Brightmoon Tribune_. They’ll survive one day without her.

She gets up anyway, because fuck it, she’s already awake. Makes her coffee, rummages around her apartment, and messages Bow and Glimmer to see if they have any plans for the day. She doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with her friends anymore, which makes her sad, but at the same time, they’re working adults. That’s how it is. They understand. She doesn’t get a reply, so she decides to just fuck off around Brightmoon for the day, because her routine is ruined, and she has nothing better to do.

If there’s one thing that can brighten Adora’s mood, it’s Brightmoon in the throes of autumn. It’s your basic white girl fall package: leaves changing colors into a million hues, scarves and puffs of breath misting ahead, pumpkin-spiced whatever and the weather being just cold enough to get oneself out of one’s head. And so Adora decides to enjoy all the autumn clichés Brightmoon has to offer. She walks hands in coat pockets to her favorite café, orders her Venti pumpkin-spiced whatever, and takes a brisk and refreshingly distracting walk through Light Hope Park, pretending her evaporating breaths are from cigarettes and not the cold. And by the time she’s reached the other end of the park and decides to walk back the way she came to go back home, she gets a reply in the group-chat.

**Glimmer:** _Adora are you okay? Frosta said you called in sick today_

**Me:** Yeah yeah I’m fine. Woke up late, didn’t feel like going in

**Glimmer:** _Well thanks for letting us know, really appreciate it_

**Bow:** _She’s letting us know right now Glim, ease up._

**Me:** Yeah Glim, ease up

 **Glimmer** : _nonononono we’re not teaming up on Glimmer today guys. We talked about this. Today is gang up on Adora day. Tomorrow is Bow, and then back to me on Thursday._

 **Bow** : _She has a point, Adora._

 **Me** : traitor

 **Bow** : _Oh yeah. Scorpia told me to ask if you wanted to come to her housewarming party tomorrow night._

 **Glimmer** : _Why would she have a housewarming party for a house she’s lived in for three years?_

 **Bow** : _It’s not for her, it’s for her new roommate. Her old college friend or something, just moved to the city. She and Perfuma are renting out their spare bedroom to her while she settles in and gets used to living here._

 **Me** : Is she nice?

 **Bow** : _Scorpia says she can be abrasive, but “very, very sweet once she gets out of her shell”_

 **Glimmer** : _so she’s a raging bitch_ -_-

 **Me** : lmao

 **Me** : I doubt it. Scorpia’s sweet, I don’t think she’d hang around people who are like that

 **Glimmer** : _I guess we’ll see tomorrow night, right?_

 **Bow** : _So that’s a yes for you both?_

 **Me** : sure

 **Glimmer** : _Yep_

And surprisingly (or maybe not to some who have friends as good as Bow and Glimmer), that simple exchange of texts has markedly improved Adora’s mood. Enough that she skips – that’s right, fucking _skips_ – through Light Hope Park. Enough that she tosses her coffee cup in the recycling bin right outside the park entrance with a _swish_ and a celebration when it hits the can; no backboard, no rim, all net. Enough that she isn’t paying attention when she turns around to walk home and doesn’t notice the girl in the wheelchair right in front of her.

Adora slams into her. They both tumble. It isn’t pretty.

“ _Oooooohmygod_ , I-I am so so sorry, a-are you okay?” Adora starts stuttering as soon as she hits the ground. Her hands are scraped up and bleeding a little, but she’s more concerned about the brunette she just ran over on the sidewalk. The girl hauls herself into her chair, breathing out a quiet “It’s cool, don’t worry about it” in a raspy timbre that prickles Adora’s ears. It’s familiar in a very haunting sort of way that makes Adora want to turn around and walk away. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stands up straight and looks at the girl. She looks back. Then Adora’s knees buckle. _Run_ , her brain screams. _Run away n-o-w._

“Catra?!”

Holy fuck. Holy _fuck_. _Holy fuck._

Catra is here? In Brightmoon? Since when? When did she leave the orphanage? Why didn’t she ever get in touch? What’s she been doing for the past nine years? And, oh yeah, how did she end up in a wheelchair? All these questions and more are firing off in Adora’s brain at rapid speeds, and she doesn’t notice the whirlwind of emotions contorting themselves across Catra’s face. Pain, anger, regret, anger again, guilt, anger once more, relief, acceptance, indifference; quick as you like, then the mask slips on.

“Hey, Adora. How’ve you been?” she asks, snapping Adora out of her revelry. Catra’s asking her questions? Why? Isn’t she angry with her? For leaving the orphanage without telling her? For abandoning Catra and the other kids to Ms. Weaver? For not trying to get in touch with her? Adora is. She’s hated herself a little more every day for it. But she doesn’t say any of that, because she’s a _coward_ , and Catra’s being _nice_ , so why ruin a good thing?

“I – uh – I’m okay. Working at the _Brightmoon Tribune_.”

“So you became a reporter? That’s cool, you always talked about it when we were kids.”

Adora’s surprised that Catra remembers, and then isn’t. She remembers every detail about Catra down to the number of freckles sprinkled across her nose. It shouldn’t be surprising that Catra remembers things too.

“Uh, ye-yeah. Yeah I am. A reporter. I actually just finished my first real story last week. They had me writing puff pieces until just recently.”

“What’s it about?” Catra asks, wheeling herself into the park and close to a bench. Adora follows, of course, drawn in like a magnet.

“What?”

“Your story, what’s it about?”

Oh, right. Story. Adora’s story. She reaches into her bag and grabs the paper from last week, hands it to Catra, hands shaking like a goddamn maraca.

“It’s a humanities piece on the anniversary of the opening of the Heart. It’s been a year since the museum was opened, so they had me do interviews with the curator, workers, staff, visitors, all that. Even the janitors. It was so much work. But I’m proud of it,” she finishes with a smile.

Catra’s eyes flash down the paper, nodding and shaking her head at the right times, drinking in Adora’s work, but not focused on Adora herself. So Adora takes the time to drink Catra in while she can.

She’s grown – _obviously_ , fuck Adora you’re so stupid – but it’s definitely her. Heterochromatic eyes shine blue and gold, tanned skin and curly chocolate hair. It’s short now, her hair, framing her face and covering her neck, the odd curl twisting off into space. The sweater and leather jacket she wears are both black (definitely Catra) and Adora can’t help but glue her eyes to Catra’s legs, dangling in the wheelchair. Atrophied, useless. Adora’s stomach twists itself into knots. How did this happen to her? Did she have an accident? When? How did she not kn-

“-ve gotten better, that’s for sure,” Catra’s rasp breaks in.

“Sorry?”

“Your writing. It’s gotten better. You weren’t ever really bad, but now it’s really good. Remember Ms. Jun in high school?”

Adora laughs, of course she remembers.

“She said I’d never be a reporter because my attention span is nearly nonexistent, I remember. Wonder how she’s doing nowadays.”

“She’s dead,” Catra deadpans.

“ _W-what_?!”

This time Catra laughs, clear and high, and, oh _fuck_ yeah, Adora’s still got it _bad_. Fuck.

“I’m fucking with you, Adora. I wouldn’t know. Haven’t been back there in years,” she snorts, shaking her head.

Adora does a little nervous fake laugh in response, not fooling Catra for a second. And of course Adora’s still standing, not even having bothered sitting down on the bench, because…why, exactly? She’s being weird. She should sit down. So she does. Very awkwardly. Catra says nothing, just raises an eyebrow.

“So,” Adora tries, “How about you?”

“I just started working at a tech firm in the city. Pay’s good, people are cool, I like it. It’s entry level, but I only just finished my degree, so I can’t complain.” She shrugs, hands shuffling around the wheels of her chair. She pops it up into a sort of wheelie and keeps the chair balanced like that, absent-mindedly. Like she’s been doing it for a long time. She probably has.

She catches Adora staring at her, drops the chair back down, and stares back. It’s a challenge, Adora knows. Everything between them used to be. Who would eat more, who would run faster, have better grades, more friends, anything, _everything_ was a competition. And so is this staring contest. But this time Adora loses. She can’t keep looking at Catra like that. So she drops her gaze, sighs, relents.

“I’m glad you’re doing well, Catra. Really.”

This, apparently, is most definitely _not_ the right thing to say.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Adora,” Catra says, eyes narrowed.

And then, for the first time in the weirdest fucking twenty minutes she’s had in her life, Adora looks – _really_ looks – at Catra, and sees everything she missed the first time. Scars everywhere, on her face, her scalp, her neck, her hands, a burn scar right below her collarbone. She remembers Ms. Weaver and how she treated her and Catra and the other kids, borderline abusive and a nightmare of a woman. How she protected Catra when she could. How she wasn’t there to protect Catra anymore. And then it hits her.

Weaver beat Catra. Probably did before Adora even left. And it definitely continued after she did. And suddenly Adora can't fucking stomach sitting down anymore so she stands, paces a few steps, keeping her eyes glued to Catra, who, to her credit, keeps her eyes glued on Adora. She’s been watching Adora this entire time, patiently, waiting for the needle to drop. She knows what’s happening in Adora’s brain right now, how the pieces are starting to fit together, and when they finally do, the _click_ in Adora’s mind is nearly audible.

"Finally figured it out, have you?" she asks the blonde.

Adora rocks back on her heels, ridiculously, overwhelmingly horrified. Like, eyes bulging and heart beating so hard in her chest it’s cracking her ribcage terrified. In fact, she feels nauseous. In fact, she thinks that she’s never been more afraid in her life.

Of a girl. In a wheelchair.

But, of course, it isn’t just any girl. It’s Catra (because of fucking _course_ it’s Catra. It’s always been Catra, always will be Catra, since Adora was 14 years old and just figured out that she liked girls).

But this isn’t the Catra that Adora knows. Not Adora’s Catra. She’s never seen her like this. Which is a ridiculous thought, because Adora hasn’t seen Catra in nine years, and, much to Adora’s regret, she was never really _Adora’s_ Catra. But the fact remains. She remembers Catra as a force of nature, a hurricane of energy and sarcasm, righteous fury and razor-sharp wit.

She’s never seen this version of Catra: broken, scarred, circles under her eyes so dark they might be bruises, hair shorn and slicked back with too much product, and so very, very small. Adora feels something in her chest crack open.

So, already knowing the answer, already knowing how much it’s going to hurt to hear, she asks the question that, if she were any smarter, she’d keep to herself. But she isn’t, and so she asks.

“C-Catra,” she clears her throat when it catches. “Catra, what _happened_ to you?”

Catra’s head snaps up so quickly and with such force Adora swears to _God_ she hears it snap, and Catra looks so absolutely goddamn furious that Adora wants to melt into the sidewalk, never to be seen again. It isn’t just anger in her mix-matched eyes, it’s _hate_. Cold, in the way only Catra can be, and the shine behind the hate reveals what must be years’ worth of grief and rage. But then it’s gone just as quickly, and Catra laughs. It’s bitter and broken and nearly a sob. Then she looks back up at Adora, and the heartbroken smile she’s wearing makes Adora want to throw up with guilt and she already knows what Catra’s going to say. She doesn’t disappoint.

“You left,” she answers, and then wheels herself away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah have you ever been so mad at someone you just want to burn the entire world?  
> and adora is so, so, so dumb. i love her.
> 
> let me know what you all think! 
> 
> -jack


	2. in my skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is the truth that took Catra years to come around to. She’d never needed Adora to save her. To help her or be with her. She’d just needed herself. She calms herself, taking deep, ragged breaths. It’s fine, it’s all fine. Get through this conversation with Adora, go home, and never come to this park again. Ever. Easy enough. She puts on her best mask of casual indifference, a skill she picked up at the orphanage, and waits. And waits._
> 
> or 
> 
> Adora's so stupid that she can't tell that Catra would literally be anywhere but right there with her. She also wants you to read the notes before the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack, flashbacks, explicit images of abuse
> 
> hi all! back again, a quick update this time. i had this chapter mostly written out before i posted the first one, but something about writing the encounter from Catra's POV was much more difficult for me, probably because it's partially reflective of my own experience. but i powered through it, and i'm actually really proud of it. i hope you all enjoy the read.

_"I let misery open doors to see_

_I'm not free yet_

_I'm not free of you"_

-Jacob Charlton

* * *

Catra is having a _fantastic_ morning.

No, really. She is. It’s amazing. She’s slept throughout the night, no nightmares. She wakes up before her alarm even goes off, showers quickly, barely even notices her scars in the mirror she actively tries to avoid, wheels herself into the kitchen to make a bowl of oatmeal, and is out the door before her roommates even think of waking up. No early morning forced social interaction, no overly kind questions about how she slept (beautifully, thanks) or if she likes the new house she’s moving into.

She loves it. She just doesn’t want to talk about it.

So she zooms down the sidewalk, years of being in the chair reinforcing her comfort with going fast. She’s got the day off and wants to explore the city, what little bit she has access to. Brightmoon isn’t the most handicapped-friendly town, unfortunately, but it doesn’t really matter. Catra prefers being outside, in the open, free and clear. She’s got a skatepark pulled up on Maps and her earphones in, blaring music loud enough to keep her head clear and thoughts pleasingly dulled. Her college roommate turned her onto metal, which was never her thing before but definitely is now. Even the shows she’s gone to, which are few, were amazing experiences. Loud, sweaty, potentially violent, charged. It’s definitely Catra’s scene.

She wheels into the park, over-fucking- _joyed_ to find it’s empty, and snaps the belt on her chair to keep her locked in. Nobody wants to tip into a pool just to fall out of their chair and onto their face (which has _never_ happened to Catra, nope, and if you bring it up she _will_ run over your foot). She slides her fingerless gloves on, takes a deep breath, and drops in.

The rush of movement and adrenaline keep her sated long after she’s left the park. She started doing WCMX in college, after her traditional freshman mental breakdown and three major changes. It was something to keep her out of her own head, and it eventually led to Catra actually winning a few competitions and some prize money. By now she’s lost the appetite for competition and skates as a hobby. It’s nicer this way, more relaxing than the stress of skating competitively. Catra doesn’t handle competition well. Never has.

She’s wiping sweat off and drinking water when her phone starts to buzz, and she answers it out of reflex.

“Hey ‘Trapta, what’s up?” she answers.

“Just checking in. You were gone when we woke up earlier,” Entrapta says.

“I’m fine, I’m good. At the skatepark downtown.”

“Oh, the one near Light Hope? Can you stop by the market on your way back? We need more boxes to get your stuff packed up.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“You know..” she lets it linger, “We don’t mind if you want to stay with us. Hordak already talked to the landlord about getting a ground floor apartment.”

Catra sighs, not wanting to have this conversation again. For the _thirtieth goddamn time_.

“No no, it’s cool. Really. I already have some of my shit moved in and the new place is closer to work. I’ll be alright, really. I know you worry.”

Entrapta laughs. “I don’t worry. Worrying about you is too stressful. I nag. It’s more fun.”

“Ha ha ha, hilarious. Do you guys need anything from the store besides boxes?”

“Hang on, let me check. **_HEY DAK_**!”

Catra winces at the scream and pulls the phone away from her ear.

“Yeah, Kitty. Hordak wants to make dumplings for dinner. That cool with you?”

“What kind?”

“Vegetarian.” _Gag_.

“Alright, so dumpling wrappers and veggies. If I grab some shrimp can he put it in mine?”

“Sure, sure, yeah.” _Better_.

“Beer?”

“Obviously.” _Fantastic_.

“Cool. See you guys in an hour.”

She hangs up, throws her shit in her bag, and wheels off again, not entirely paying attention to where she’s going, and not intending on meeting her self-appointed deadline of being home in an hour. It’s barely mid-afternoon. She’s got time to waste. So she people watches, observes Brightmooners in their natural habitat. She does her best not to notice specific details, just an overall picture of how people move, how they interact with one another when they’re forced to. It’s a practice her therapist gave her, to help her relax and unwind.

She’s still in that trance of unknowing when she wheels herself past the entrance of the park and directly into the path of what feels like a brick wall. Except the wall follows her to the ground when she falls from her chair and starts sputtering out a shaky apology. Catra laughs under her breath and mutters out some sort of denial, because it’s fine. She isn’t hurt at all. No harm, no foul. She lifts herself back into her chair and looks up at the wall, which turns out to actually be a tall blonde woman. Blonde, incidentally, is Catra’s least favorite hair color. It brings up bad memories that she does her absolute best to not think about. It reminds her of –

“Catra?!”

Fuck.

No, no, no, no. _No._ Absolutely fucking _not._ Not doing this today.

For once in her life, Catra is grateful that Adora is such a fucking idiot. She’s so focused on convincing herself that Catra’s actually _here_ that she’s not noticed that Catra is having an absolutely world-shattering _meltdown_ in front of her. She’s hyperventilating, forcing the images of her childhood back into the recesses of her mind. She gets flashes still, years later, but six years of therapy and breathing exercises usually help. But not today, apparently.

_Leather belts-buckles out-splintered paddles-pipes-handcuffs-fists-Adora there, palms out placatingly-Adora gone, Catra left to fend for herself._

_Adora. Gone. Weaver. There. Fists raised. Voice so low and so sweet._ Adora never made me do this to her _, she’d say_. Catra gags, nauseous.

 _No letter, no phone call. Gone. A decade of friendship abandoned like it meant nothing. Like Catra meant nothing_.

Because of course she didn’t. Weaver made sure she knew that before anything else. Catra meant nothing then and she means nothing now.

 _No._ No, that isn’t right. Catra means everything. She repeats it in her head a million times a minute. She’s worthy of love. She’s worthy of peace and quiet and whatever the _fuck she wants_ , especially after what she’s been through. She has friends, she’s not in that fucking orphanage anymore. Weaver’s in prison, forever. Catra _won_. She’s safe, and so are the rest of the kids. Catra _won, god damnit._

Without Adora.

This is the truth that took Catra years to come around to. She’d never needed Adora to save her. To help her or be with her. She’d just needed herself. She calms herself, taking deep, ragged breaths. It’s fine, it’s _all_ fine. Get through this conversation with Adora, go home, and never come to this park again. Ever. Easy enough. She puts on her best mask of casual indifference, a skill she picked up at the orphanage, and waits. And waits.

And since Adora is standing there, drool hanging off her chin, dumbest fucking look on her stupid, perfect face, Catra sighs and starts the conversation herself.

“Hey, Adora. How’ve you been?” she asks.

“I – uh – I’m okay. Working at the _Brightmoon Tribune_ ,” she responds lamely.

 _Christ on a fucking cross_ , this is going to be like pulling teeth.

“So you became a reporter? That’s cool, you always talked about it when we were kids.”

_Good, Catra. Nice. Keep it casual and simple. Good memories only._

The surprise that Catra remembers things is obvious on Adora’s face, like Catra’s the dumb one and not the other way around. Catra rolls her eyes so hard they might roll out of her eye sockets and onto the sidewalk.

“Uh, ye-yeah. Yeah I am. A reporter. I actually just finished my first real story last week. They had me writing puff pieces until just recently.”

“What’s it about?” she asks, wheeling herself over to a bench in the park to give Adora a chance to sit. Polite, casual, cool.

“What?”

_Jesus, are you fucking deaf?_

“Your story, what’s it about?”

Adora shakes her head, pulls a newspaper out of her bag, hands it to Catra. Her hands are shaking. Good. Be afraid.

“It’s a humanities piece,” she replies, “on the anniversary of the opening of the Heart. It’s been a year since the museum was opened, so they had me do interview with the curator, workers, staff, visitors, all that. Even the janitors. It was so much work. But I’m proud of it,” she finishes, smiling shyly.

And Catra reads the piece quickly. Skimming, really. And she admits, it’s good. Really well written. Much better than the articles Adora wrote for the school paper in high school. She tells Adora as much, but of course, she isn’t listening, she’s staring at Catra’s legs. Another red-hot flash of anger. _Fuck you, Adora._

“Sorry?”

Hearing Adora say that word makes Catra _so_ much angrier than it should, because _No, you're not sorry at all,_ but she swallows the rage and keeps her voice steady.

“Your writing, it’s gotten better. You weren’t ever really bad, but now it’s really good. Remember Ms. Jun in high school?”

Ms. Jun, who was the one person in the entire world who disliked Adora as much as she disliked Catra. It was refreshing.

Adora laughs, says she remembers, and the anger flashes again. She’s being irrational, she knows. She’ll tell her therapist as much later during her session. But for now, she shoves the anger back down as hard as she can. _Be cool, Catra, fuck._

“-wonder how she’s doing nowadays,” she catches Adora saying.

“She’s dead,” she responds flatly. It’s a reflex.

“ _W-what?!_ ”

And Adora’s shock and gullibility is so deliciously sincere than Catra can’t help but laugh. It feels good. She doesn’t get too many chances to laugh anymore. Aaaaaand now she’s sad again. Fuck.

“I’m fucking with you, Adora,” she says between her cackling, “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t been back there in years.”

Adora’s uncomfortable thinking about the orphanage, about school, about the past, Catra can tell. It’s written on her face. And the way she fidgets, still standing. She seems to notice this at the same time as Catra, and sits. It’s so awkward that Catra almost cracks up again. Almost. Instead she sits and raises an eyebrow at Adora, waiting.

“So,” Adora finally says, “How about you?”

“I just started working at a tech firm in the city. Pay’s good, people are cool, I like it. It’s entry level, but I only just got my degree, so I can’t complain,” she replies. It’s a little understated, honestly. Prime Industries isn’t just a tech firm, it’s the world’s leading authority in robotics and advanced prosthesis engineering, and the pay is absolutely fucking _amazing_. But she was truthful about her just getting her degree, only it was her third one. But Catra doesn’t brag. Not anymore. It’s annoying and she outgrew that shit years ago. Adora wouldn’t care, and even if she did, does she really deserve to know? Catra doesn’t think so.

Unconsciously she’s started popping her chair into a wheelie, teetering, perfectly balanced. She’s been in the chair for six years now, it’s part of her just as much as her head and heart. She thinks nothing of it, until she catches Adora staring again. _Sigh_.

She’s tried really hard to be patient about this. Really, she has. Seeing Adora has drug up a lot of bad memories and trauma she really would rather have not dealt with today, but if Adora wants to make this difficult, well, Catra can do it that way too. So she stares back, no intimidation, just a blank gaze. She sees Adora stiffen, harden her gaze, like it’s a competition. _Christ, Adora, we’re not kids anymore._

And then Adora drops her gaze, flushed and shivering. She’s uncomfortable. Good. _Quit fucking staring_. She hates that shit more than anything. The look of pity, the _Oh you poor things_ and _How difficult it must be for yous_. It’s exhausting and annoying and a lot of other negative descriptors that Catra doesn’t have the energy to think up. She hopes that Adora’s about ready to give it up and call it a day.

“I’m glad you’re doing well, Catra. Really,” she says with a sigh.

Are you _fucking_ kidding me _?_

“I wouldn’t go that far, Adora,” she admits.

Catra’s been waiting the entire unbearably awkward encounter for Adora to notice the signs, the scars, to see Adora’s face pale and realize what she left Catra and the other orphans to endure alone. She’s been anxious about it, but can’t help but feel a little tinge of vindication when it finally happens. Adora’s eyes roam her body, seeing the angry, puckered line of tissue above Catra’s left ear, the pale white lines that scatter across her forehead and chin, the withered, gnarled burn beneath her collarbone from the hot water pipe in the basement of the orphanage, for the first time.

And for whatever reason, Catra can’t help herself.

“Finally figured it out, have you?” she asks.

Adora suddenly looks like she’d rather be anywhere than here in this park with Catra. That’s fine. Catra didn’t want to be here in the first place. _So let’s just say goodbye and let that be that_. _We never have to see each other again. I can forget you and you can forget me. Again._

But of course, of _fucking course_ Adora can’t let things be that easy. Can't just leave well enough alone.

“C-Catra,” she chokes out, “Catra, what _happened_ to you?”

Catra’s heard the expression _seeing red_ before, but never truly experienced it, despite years of abuse and therapy, despite being filled with rage as a default. But she does now, and it _burns_. It burns so goddamn hot that she feels like she’s back in the basement of the orphanage, Weaver shoving her chest into the rusted pipes, steel melting her skin, screaming so hard her throat bleeds. But of course, she isn’t back there, won’t ever go back. She’s here, in the park, eyes burning holes into Adora, who has the good grace to shrink so far into herself Catra wouldn’t be surprised if she just popped out of existence. The image makes her laugh again, but it isn’t the laugh from earlier. It’s hard and bitter, it hurts coming out, and she’s so drained and so _fucking done_ with this that she wants to cry. And nearly does.

But Adora asked her a question. She wants to know what happened to Catra. Or, she thinks she does. Catra knows she doesn’t want the full truth. Couldn’t handle knowing. So Catra tells her simply.

“You left,” she says, and then wheels herself away.

She doesn’t look back, forces herself not to. Adora isn't worth it. She goes to the market like she said she would, grabs cabbage and shrimp and boxes, and goes home. Hordak makes dinner, and the dumplings are fantastic. She and Entrapta and Hordak share a bottle of wine, watch a movie, enjoy their last night of being roommates. It’s nice. It’s a good comedown from her nightmare of a day. She deserves this, deserves her chance to be happy.

It’s late when she finally pulls herself out of her chair and into bed, her eyes heavy and muscles aching from exertion. _What a fucking day_ , she thinks, slipping into a fitful sleep. The nightmares may not have appeared the night before, but they do tonight. And as Catra fights her demons in her sleep, her phone lights up, a text notification blinking quietly.

**Scorpia** : Hey Wildcat! Hope you’re ready for your party tomorrow! I invited some friends, hope that's okay with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. that was rough, huh?
> 
> catra has issues, yes. she's working through them. but as you all know, adora has a knack for breaking down walls, whether the walls want to come down or not. it's not always a good thing. don't feel too bad for them. they'll work things out eventually, right??? guys???
> 
> oh, and be prepared. next chapter is messy. words will be exchanged. friendships tested. a certain purple haired princess may get her ass kicked by a girl in a wheelchair. who knows?
> 
> let me know what you think!


	3. electric cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Seeing the kids makes her think of Adora, and how yesterday went. Now that the anger’s faded, Catra feels a little guilty. She knows that Adora isn’t to blame for the abuse Catra and the other kids were forced to endure, that Adora was simply adopted and had to leave. That’s how it is. You’re not mad at her, idiot. You’re mad at Weaver. And you, in your infinite wisdom, took that anger out on Adora. Catra sighs, resigned. If she ever sees Adora again, she’ll apologize and try to explain if she can. If._
> 
> or
> 
> Catra and Adora both vow to try and reconcile if they can, and Glimmer is absolutely _no_ help at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! these chapters are writing themselves honestly, it's crazy. this one's a little longer. let me know what you all think!

_"I know it's typical of me_

_to keep secrets and find my way back again"_

-Courtney LaPlante

* * *

Adora would like to say that she handles the encounter with Catra well. That she doesn’t take Catra’s anger and dejection personally. That she handles it like a mature adult: upset, obviously, but rational.

She doesn’t.

Instead she cries, ugly, choking, broken sobs, until she reaches her apartment, and then cries some more outside. And the worst part is that she isn’t crying for herself, no, she’s crying because _Jesus, just fucking_ look _at what Catra had to go through_. She called Bow and Glimmer on the way home, desperate for their comfort and familiarity, and by the time she reaches her door, Bow’s thrown it open and is crushing her in a bear hug with all the subtlety and grace of a train wreck. It helps, if only a little.

Glimmer’s standing close behind, concern plastered over her face, but silent. Waiting. Adora’s grateful for that. She needs the time to gather her thoughts, figure out how to explain the situation without invading or outing Catra and her past. It isn’t her place.

“H-hey, guys,” Adora manages in between sobs, “I’m s-s-sorry for c-calling you here.”

“We’re not,” Bow says encouragingly.

Glimmer nods. “We’re here for you, babe. Whatever you need. Was it work again?”

Adora shakes her head absently, tears still streaming.

“No, n-nothing like that. I had a-a run in with Ca-someone I used to know earlier. From the orphanage.” Glimmer’s face pales. She’s heard stories. “Someone I left behind.”

“Adora,” Glimmer says firmly, “We’ve _talked_ about this. You didn’t _leave anyone behind_. You were fifteen and got adopted. You didn’t have a _choic_ e.”

“I-I _know_ , I know, Glim. I get it. But it doesn’t help. Y-you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was like living there. What Weaver was like. How she treated the kids there. It was awful, and she never got caught. She got away with so much. A-and now I’m seeing that it was so much worse than I thought.”

Bow and Glimmer tilt their heads, confused. They both grew up in loving, stable homes. Never missed a meal, never went a day without knowing that they were loved and accepted, that they mattered to someone important to them. They’re supportive, absolutely, and they sympathize. But they can’t empathize. They don’t understand. Can’t.

Adora sighs, not knowing how to continue. The crying’s stopped, thank _God_ , but she still feels wobbly. She heads to the kitchen, GlimBow hot on her heels, and grabs a glass of water, chugging it quickly before getting another, and another. It helps. She exhales thickly, thoughts gathered and ready.

“Let’s go sit down,” she says.

An hour later, Glimmer and Bow sit, frozen, _horrified_ , faces pale and clammy. They don’t move an inch until Adora sighs and shrugs.

“And that’s pretty much it,” she finishes.

“ _What?!”_ they say together.

“No, no, no. That can’t be all,” Glimmer says while Bow whips his phone out and types furiously.

“It isn’t,” he says after a moment. “Listen to this: _Weaver Home for Wayward Children Director Simone Weaver sentenced to two life sentences for nineteen counts of child abuse, thirty-four counts of criminal neglect, and two counts of…of -_ ATTEMPTED MURDER?!”

Adora’s blood chills. _Attempted murder? Is that how Catra ended up in her wheelchair? Did Weaver really try to kill Catra? She was just a little girl?_

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she admits and dashes to the bathroom. She does get sick, and it doesn’t help. If anything, learning that Weaver is imprisoned makes her feel worse. She really had no clue things were that bad in the orphanage. Weaver had yelled at her, sure, made her do extra chores or go to bed without dinner, but she’d never laid a finger on Adora. _How could I not see it?_

“Adora, babe, you okay?” Glimmer asks from outside the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Coming out now.”

She pushes the door open, and Glimmer immediately hugs her gently.

“Listen,” Glimmer whispers, “I know you feel bad about this. Don’t shake your head at me, I _know_ you. But listen – this is _not. Your. Fault._ You were a kid too. You couldn’t have known. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Mara would be beside herself if she knew you were beating yourself up over getting adopted. And look, that Weaver lady got what she deserved. She can never hurt anyone again. Those kids are safe, somewhere, leading their own lives, healing. Just like you did. It’ll be okay.”

Adora’s crying again, surprise surprise.

“P-promise?” she asks lamely.

“I promise,” Glimmer says, and Adora believes her. She’s right. Catra seemed strong, like she was taking care of herself, like she’s moved on. _Good. She deserves it_. Adora decides not to worry about Catra anymore, and to move on. Besides, Brightmoon is a massive city. What are the odds that they randomly run into each other again?

* * *

The day following that hilariously awful run-in with Adora is peaceful. Quiet. Catra gathers the last of her belongings and stuffs them into boxes, Entrapta and Hordak doing most of the heavy lifting. Scorpia and Perfuma show up around noon to help load boxes into the van and they all pack in and head to the house.

Perfuma asks about 3,005 questions, from how Catra’s liking the city ( _it’s cool_ ), how her therapy’s going ( _really, really well actually_ ), if she’s seeing anyone ( _absolutely not_ ), to what she’d like for dinner at the party ( _anything’s fine, really, don’t stress on my account_ ), and the more they talk, the more Catra realizes that she really likes Perfuma. She’s genuine, which is rare, and doesn’t treat Catra like she’s broken, which is damn near unheard of, and it’s appreciated. Catra tells her as much, and the beaming smile Perfuma aims at her could overpower the sun.

It really is a good day.

By the time they reach the house, Catra’s practically giddy. She grabs the few small boxes and bags she can pile on her lap and rolls herself to the door. Scorpia spent a lot of time getting rid of the raised thresholds on the doors and moving things out of the spare room on the ground floor of the house, and Catra is grateful that her old friend is being so accommodating for her. If she were a big baby she’d cry about it. But she’s _not_ , and the water on her face is obviously from the rain outside.

“Hey Wildcat! Where do you want the bed?” Scorpia calls from the room.

“Uh, just against the far wall is fine!” she calls back, “I’ll set everything up once we get it all unloaded. You guys don’t have to do it all for me.”

Scorpia snorts. “Yeah right, kid. If we leave it up to you, this shit’ll still be in boxes this time next year.”

“That’s fair.”

They spend the next couple of hours unpacking and getting Catra’s room set up just how she likes it, and when Entrapta and Hordak take their leave, Catra hugs them both tightly, thanking them for letting her stay with them and being really, really great friends. She promises to call them and meet up at some point in the week and rolls herself back into the house after Scorpia and Perfuma.

“So!” Scorpia damn near shouts with a clap, “What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? Your party starts at eight, so we’ve got plenty of time for whatever, Wildcat. Your call.”

“Actually, Scorp, I’ve got an appointment in like,” Catra checks her watch, “an hour, fuck. I have to get ready.”

“Do you want us to give you a ride?”

“Nah, I can wheel myself over. I need the exercise anyway.”

“Cool, cool. Gimme a call when you’re out and we’ll head to the store to grab food and booze for the party.”

Catra hums in agreement and goes to get ready. Her therapist’s office is about fifteen minutes away by wheelchair, so she hurries through her shower and throws on whatever’s at the top of her drawers, calls out a quick goodbye to the happy couple, and heads towards the West End. This part of the city is absolutely beautiful, filled with nice homes and parks full of kids flitting about, enjoying themselves freely. It makes Catra smile, a little wistful, but genuine.

Seeing the kids makes her think of Adora, and how yesterday went. Now that the anger’s faded, Catra feels a little guilty. She knows that Adora isn’t to blame for the abuse Catra and the other kids were forced to endure, that Adora was simply adopted and had to leave. That’s how it is. _You’re not mad at her, idiot. You’re mad at Weaver. And you, in your infinite wisdom, took that anger out on Adora_. Catra sighs, resigned. If she ever sees Adora again, she’ll apologize and try to explain if she can. If.

Her therapist’s office is situated in a cute little brownstone, tucked neatly away between a deli and a bookstore. The façade of the building was the main reason, besides the doctor himself, that Catra chose to have her sessions here. It feels safe, secure, private. And the only thing about coming here that she likes more than the building is the doctor himself. And when she knocks on his door, he’s there in an instant, long black hair pulled into a bun and a growing smile on his face.

“Catra! So good to see you,” he says.

“Hey Dr. Fukuhara. How’s it going?” she replies with her own smile.

He puffs his cheeks out, feigning irritation. “Catra, we’ve talked about this. It’s Micah.”

“Fine, fine, Micah. How are you?” she relents, waving her hands.

“I’m wonderful, thank you. Come on in, let’s talk for a minute before your session starts.”

And they do. Catra talks about moving into the new house, skating in the park the day before, and the shrimp dumplings Hordak cooked the night before. Micah talks about his daughter’s new job and the renovations to the building, and before Catra knows it, they’ve moved into the session seamlessly. This is why she loves Micah. Her therapist in college was clinical, removed, almost too objective. Micah’s approach to therapy is natural, it’s a conversation that ebbs and flows, and he never forces Catra to talk about anything she doesn’t want to, which, oddly enough, makes her want to talk about it. She’s sure it’s some reverse psychology tactic, but she doesn’t care all that much.

She tells him about her encounter with Adora, withholding names, just what Adora was to her when they were younger, how she felt abandoned by the older girl, and Micah tells her what she already knows: none of what happened is Adora’s fault any more than it’s Catra’s. That Catra’s been retaining this bitterness towards Adora for years without knowing Adora’s side, why she left, how she spent those years. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but she knows Micah’s right. That just makes her feel worse, though. Guilt isn’t an emotion Catra is comfortable with, and she tells Micah this.

“Well, what are the odds that you’ll see this girl again, Catra?” he asks.

She shrugs, unsure. “I don’t know. Brightmoon’s a huge city. But even if I did see her, I don’t know what I’d say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of confrontation.”

“Why does it have to be a confrontation? Why not a conversation?”

“I don’t mean with her, I mean a confrontation with my feelings. Our last conversation didn’t exactly end well, and with how I left things, she probably doesn’t ever want to see me again. Which is fine, really. I don’t know how I’d talk to her even if we did see one another. I was so caught up in how seeing her made me feel that I didn’t think about it must have been for her. I don’t know.”

Micah smiles softly. “Well, the fact that you’re thinking about how she’s feeling tells me that you’re coming to terms with your experience more and more every day. This is huge progress, Catra, really.”

Catra grins, pleased with herself, really at ease. She’s glad she’s here, alive and well, for the first time in a long time. Micah sees her smile and his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“So,” he says, “seeing anyone lately?”

Catra’s smile drops instantly. “Okay, we’re done for today.”

Micah’s laugh lingers long after she rolls herself out of the office, eyes rolling and a small smile plastered on her face.

* * *

Adora lingers near the kitchen, glued to Glimmer and Bow, completely out of place. Scorpia’s house is _huge_ , immaculately furnished and kind of intimidating. Perfuma’s decked out every free space with plants, succulents on every counter and potted flowers on windowsills. She tells Glimmer about the flytrap plant she has in their bedroom with such gusto that Glimmer can’t help but be just as enthusiastic about it.

Bow’s locked in conversation with Scorpia about the kids in their classes. Bow and Scorpia, both teachers at the local high school, have a mutual hatred for their principal, and have a running bet on how long it takes for the kids start egging the guy’s house.

And Adora? Adora stands there awkwardly and sips at her beer. She doesn’t like parties. She told Glimmer this as they were getting ready, only to be told to hush and put her hair up. She sighs, still spent from the day before and slowly getting more and more annoyed.

She sidles over to Glimmer, still locked in conversation with Perfuma.

“I’m gonna go pee due to boredom,” she deadpans, and walks away.

While in the bathroom, she hears cheers and Scorpia laughing. The new roommate must’ve shown up while she was gone.

“Hey, Wildcat!” she hears Scorpia yell, loud as jet engine even from behind a door, “Have a drink! Let me introduce you to some folks.”

She leaves the bathroom and makes her way back toward Glimmer and Bow, grabbing another beer on her way.

“So,” she asks them, “How is she?”

Glimmer looks a little flustered. “Really hot,” she finally admits, earning a laugh from Bow.

“She was really nice, just like Scorpia said,” Bow says. “Apologized for being late to her own party, told us to make ourselves at home. And yeah, like Glim said, she’s pretty cute.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Adora.

“What?” she says.

“Nothing, nothing!” he rushes. “Just that you’ve had a stressful week, maybe you should have some fun.”

_What?_

“Uh, no thanks,” she says, flustered, “I don’t really have time for anything like that. Plus, I don’t even _know_ this girl.”

“Don’t know who?” Scorpia cuts in from behind her, making Adora jump about fifteen feet in the air.

“No one! No one! Ha ha, great party Scorpia,” Adora tries, very, _very_ lamely. No one is convinced.

“Oooookay, cool. Well anyway, I want to introduce you to my and Perfuma’s new housemate,”

Scorpia sidles sideways. “Adora, Catra. Catra, Adora.”

Adora freezes, eyes locked with the girl in front of her, mentally telling the universe to go fuck itself. Catra’s frozen too, she sees, surprise painted on her tanned face. But, weirdly enough, not angry anymore. _That’s new_ , Adora thinks. And then, quickly, Catra recovers, offers her hand up to Adora, and smiles, eyes crinkling and bright. It’s genuine. Adora’s absolutely shell-shocked.

“Hey, Adora. It’s nice to see you again.” _Is it?_ She shakes Catra’s hand awkwardly, and the girl mouths to her: _Later_.

Glimmer catches that. “Again? Do you two already know each other?”

Adora has never felt more like a deer caught in headlights than she does right at this moment. Literally every person in the room is staring at her and Catra, who looks equally dazed. _Shit, what do I say?_ She considers telling everyone she has to pee again, but she knows it won’t work. So she tries the truth.

“Uh, y-yeah, Catra and I grew up together,” she tells Bow and Glimmer, “This is who I told you about _yesterday_.” She flashes her eyes at them, silently commanding the pair to _Be. Cool._

Unfortunately, Glimmer doesn’t get the memo. Before Adora or Bow can move to intercept, Glimmer is damn near on _top_ of Catra, in her face, hands gripped on the sides of Catra’s wheelchair, voice raised.

“You need to apologize. _Now_ ,” she commands.

_Fuck. Not this again._

Catra looks like someone’s just told her she has cancer, face pale and utterly transfixed on the purple-maned dragon breathing fire down her throat. And that’s when Scorpia finally steps in, ever the peacemaker.

“OOOOOOOKAY GUYS, why don’t we all just take a minute, yeah? Glimmer, back off,” she calls out.

“What?” Glimmer snaps back, “She made Adora cry! She came home sobbing and eating herself alive over this girl, made herself sick over this. I’ve never seen Adora that miserable, ever. She needs to say she’s sorry.”

Bow cuts in, “Glim, you need to chill,” and is promptly ignored.

Catra fidgets in her chair, visibly uncomfortable. Adora watches as she calms herself, careful not to touch the other girl as she sits up in her seat. Adora tries to grab Glimmer’s arm to pull her back, but Scorpia’s hand latches onto her wrist, and the taller girl just silently shakes her head at Adora. “ _Let her handle this”_ , she whispers.

“Please get off my chair,” Catra says quietly, eyes on the floor.

“I will when you apologize to Adora,” Glimmer shoots back.

Adora sees the heat flash in Catra’s eyes, lightning-fast, burning, but Scorpia’s still got Adora’s wrist in a deathgrip. Everyone in the house is watching this play out, not a soul intervening.

“I’d already _planned_ to if I ever _saw_ her again,” she says with sigh. _That’s what she meant when she said ‘later’,_ Adora thinks, panics. “ _You_ don’t know the whole story, Glitter. I already asked you nicely, so, again, get the _fuck_ off my chair and _out_ of my face,” Catra growls.

Glimmer starts, visibly uncomfortable with the poison in Catra’s voice, and realizes that she’s just tried to intimidate a girl in a wheelchair in front of a bunch of their friends. So, she does the Glimmer thing: tries to save face.

“I know enough,” she says, her eyes narrowed.

“Glimmer, no,” Adora cuts in, trying to mitigate the oncoming disaster.

“No, Adora!,” she spits back, “This is bullshit. Whatever her problems are, they’re hers, not yours. It isn’t your fault she’s in that chair! She needs to get over it.”

The only reason the house isn’t dead silent at that moment is because Perfuma has her phone connected to a speaker, and “ _Rasputin_ ” is playing while everyone is staring pointedly at Glimmer, even Bow and Adora. _That was too far_.

“Glim-“, _that’s Bow._

“That was out of li-“, _Scorpia._

“How _dare_ y-“, _Perfuma._

“ _Please_ , get out,” Catra whispers. She’s blinking back tears. She points at the front door.

Adora’s mortified, frozen, wanting nothing more to grab Catra’s chair and wheel her out of this nightmare. This is _not_ how she wanted this to go.

Bow tries to salvage the situation.

“Catra, we’re really sorry. Glimmer’s just really overprotective. She’ll apologize, _right, Glimmer?”_ he finishes between his clenched teeth.

Glimmer has the good sense to look absolutely, undeniably _ashamed_ of herself.

“Y-yeah, yes, Catra I’m really so-“

Catra launches forward and wrenches the front of Glimmer’s shirt, yanking her down to eye level.

“Get. _Out. Of. My. House,”_ she snarls, and lets go, shaking.

Scorpia’s standing right next to her, apologetic but firm, nodding. Perfuma looks like she’s about to grab Glimmer by the scruff of her neck and throw her out herself. Adora has half a mind to let her do it. Catra deflates, shivering, head down, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Yeah, you guys should go,” Scorpia says.

Glimmer grabs her bag and flees as fast as her legs can take her with Bow right on her heels, anger bubbling at the surface. Adora, unsurprisingly, is still frozen in place, staring at the girl in front of her shaking with quiet sobs, blue and gold trained on the floor. Adora shakes herself, vowing to deal with Glimmer later. Right now she has to fix this.

She kneels in front of Catra’s chair, ignoring Scorpia’s glare. Catra looks up at her, pain and guilt in her eyes, saying nothing.

“Catra,” she whispers, “I’m _so_ sorry about this. Glimmer – well – she can be aggressive. I understand if you’re still upset with me, but I’d really like to talk to you again. I really want to fix this,“ - she gestures between the two of them - “if we can. If you want. Would that be okay?”

Catra sits for a moment, considers, then nods slowly. Adora feels like she’s just won the lottery.

“Okay, okay. Great. Do you want me to go?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Catra croaks, “You should, probably. I don’t think I’d be good company right now.”

Adora nods, understands.

“Okay. Scorpia has my number, okay? Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here. No rush.”

Catra just nods again, and Adora takes the hint. She gets up, smooths her dress out, and says her goodbyes. Scorpia’s calmed down a bit, but Perfuma is still livid, fuming mad. She just nods curtly in Adora’s direction.

But when Adora turns around to walk away, a small, calloused hand catches her own. She turns.

“It really was,” Catra says with a weak smile, “nice to see you again.”

 _Beautiful_.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “it was.” She gives Catra’s hand a soft squeeze and heads out the door and back home, skipping – yes, fucking _skipping_ – the last few blocks to her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. great party, eh?
> 
> so, if you're wondering why glimmer seems a little out of character, maybe a little more antagonistic towards catra than she typically would be, there's a reason for that. also, i know i promised that catra would kick glimmer's ass at the party, but the story just didn't want that to happen i guess. *shrugs*
> 
> now that the conflict between catra and adora is starting to clear itself up, we can focus on how they might go about rekindling their friendship, if that's possible. but for that to happen, catra's gonna have to open up to adora, and we all know how much catra likes to be vulnerable.
> 
> anyway, hope you all enjoyed the chapter! let me know what you think!
> 
> -jack
> 
> p.s. bonus points if you catch my reference


	4. paradigm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There’s the café just ahead, nearly empty. Strange for a Friday night. And there’s Adora, wrapped up in a long red peacoat, scarf pulled over her nose to block out the cold. It’s so cute. She’s sidling from side to side, turning her head like a periscope, on the lookout for Catra. And when she finally makes eye contact, she pulls her scarf down a waves, beaming at Catra. The cold’s gotten to her, her face tinged with red. Stunning._
> 
> or
> 
> Catra and Adora try this whole "being friends" thing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello guys, gals and nonbinary pals! we're here! catra and adora reconcile!!!! this happened much faster than i had originally planned, but the more i wrote, the more i realized that i didn't want angry catra to be angry forever, so now she's cautiously happy catra. but this story is far from over.  
> also, the texting format is so fun. i love it. i could do an entire series based on the texts these two morons send each other.
> 
> enjoy!

_"I'm here with you_

_I hear the echoes of the past, will this feeling last?_

_and I'm consumed by deja vu"_

-Marcus Bridge

* * *

Catra spends the next few days actively avoiding Scorpia and Perfuma out of guilt. They’d both spent so much time planning her party and Catra and that stupid, purple princess had ruined everything. And on _top_ of that, Sparkles was right! _Good going, Catra! You made Adora cry! Hope you’re proud of yourself, you complete asshole. Oh, and you cried too! In front of like, thirty people. That’s embarrassing._ Ugh.

She feels the deep-seated need to apologize to her housemates, to prostrate herself at their feet and beg for forgiveness, so a week after what Catra’s been calling the Fiestapocalypse ( _catchy, right?_ ), Catra asks her boss to leave work early and speeds home before Scorpia and Perfuma to make dinner for them both. She calls Micah as she cooks and holds their session by phone, telling him about Fiestapocalypse, how coincidental it was that she and Adora have mutual friends even after all this time, and the incident with the purple dragon.

“-and she got all in my face, screaming at me!” Catra complains, “I mean, she made good points, sure, but like, who just invades personal space like that the first time you meet them?”

“I seem to remember you had an issue with respecting personal space once upon a time,” Micah mumbles.

“That’s true, but I grew out of it. Like you taught me, I recognized a bad behavior and worked on it.”

“Maybe if you talk to this girl again you should suggest therapy,” Micah says with a laugh.

Catra joins in, “Yeah, I dunno about that one, doc. Glimmer didn’t seem like the type to talk about her issues.”

Catra hears a crash over the phone, Micah falling with a little yelp.

“Micah, you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Catra, did you say _Glimmer_?”

“Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p’, “Said some really hurtful stuff. She was right about me needing to apologize, though. Why do you ask?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Short, purple hair, loud?”

“Holy shit. Small world, huh doc?”

The front door opens and Catra waves Scorpia and Perfuma in, pointing to her phone and mouthing: _Just a sec_.

“Hey Micah, roommates are here. I’ll talk to you next week, yeah?”

“O-of course, Catra. Give me a call if you need anything.”

“Will do, doc. Bye.”

Scorpia swaggers into the kitchen, sniffing the air appreciatively. She beams at Catra and holds her arms open wide, inviting Catra in but not forcing it. Rolling her eyes, Catra wheels over and lets Scorpia crush her ribcage for a few seconds.

“Hey, Wildcat! Smells good!” she says.

“It really does!” Perfuma says from behind her, “What’d you make?”

Catra scratches behind her ears, pointing at the saucepan on the stove. “Just some alfredo. I’ve got garlic bread in the oven, too. I wanted to make dinner for you guys, and to – uh – to apologize for last week,” she says sheepishly.

Scorpia tilts her head, very much confused.

“Apologize for what?” she asks.

“The party,” Catra blurts out, “Getting loud and nearly getting into a fight and all that. I didn’t mean for _any_ of that to happen, I swear. I had no idea you guys knew Adora and I’d have said no if I knew she was coming and I _really_ feel like shit because you two planned everything out and it was perfect and I ruined it and I’m really sor-“

“Catra, honey, no,” Perfuma cuts her off with a wave, “none of that was your fault. We love Glimmer, but sometimes that girl’s mouth moves faster than her brain. You scaring the shit out of her probably did her some good, honestly,” she finishes, giggling.

“Perfuma’s right, Wildcat,” Scorpia agrees, “I knew you wouldn’t actually hurt her. You’re good. We’re good. Honestly, we thought you were avoiding us because _you_ were mad at _us_ for inviting them, so that’s a relief.”

Catra shakes her head, “No way. You couldn’t have known. We’re good.”

“Awesome,” Scorpia says, “Let’s eat.” She waddles her way to the table, giggling and rubbing her palms together.

Catra laughs again, worries gone and abandoned. She follows the couple to the table, plates stacked on her arms, and they eat mediocre chicken alfredo and store-bought garlic bread like it’s a five-star meal. And later that night, Catra _does_ finally get Adora’s number from Scorpia. If she’s going to make amends, she should do it with everyone. Especially the one who deserves it the most.

* * *

Adora’s week has been _shit_. Her editor’s shot down every idea she had for an article, she hasn’t spoken to Glimmer since the night of the party, her curling iron broke, she lost her phone charger, and to make matters worse, Catra hasn’t called. Not that she was _expecting_ it, of course, but it would’ve been nice.

At 5:30 sharp, Adora locks her office, pouts in the elevator, and continues sulking as she shuffles home, kicking rocks, hands shoved in her pockets. It’s completely childish, and 100% pure, unadulterated Adora. Feeling sorry for herself is _not_ a common occurrence, but when it does happen, it’s nearly debilitating. Adora feels destroyed. Adora is _melodramatic_.

So when her phone vibrates in her pocket, she assumes its Bow telling her to make up with Glimmer for the hundredth time and ignores it, drops her keys outside her apartment door, and gives up. She slams her head against the door and just stays like that for several minutes, breathing deeply and hating the world for a little while. It’s nice. Cathartic.

Finally inside, she flicks the lights on and throws her bag onto the couch, deciding to forgo dinner in lieu of a beer and Netflix. _It’s the sensible choice,_ she thinks, mentally applauding herself. She slides herself into her worn-down spot on the couch, finally checking her phone and choking on the beer when she does.

 **Unknown Number:** _Your angry purple friend is my therapist’s daughter._

Adora’s over the moon. She jumps off the couch, swinging her fist in the air in victory. And then freezes. _What do I say back? How do text? Fuck. I didn’t think I’d get this far._ So she just decides to play coy. Because _that_ always works well.

 **Me** : Sorry, who’s this?

 **Catra** : _How many people do you know who’ve A) interacted with Glitter and B) are actively in therapy?_

Adora chuckles, surprised. Catra’s _joking_? Catra has a _sense of humor_? This must be some kind of fever dream.

 **Me** : That list is a lot longer than you think it is.

 **Catra** : _lol_

 **Catra** : _It’s Catra, idiot._

 **Me** : Oh

 **Me** : Hi!!!!

 **Me** : So you finally got my number from Scorpia, eh?

 **Catra** : _I did_

 **Catra** : _Sorry for not getting back to you sooner_

 **Catra** : _Needed a bit of recovery time after the party_

 **Me** : Totally understandable

 **Me** : Again, really sorry about Glimmer

 **Catra** : _Is she always like that?_

 **Me** : I’d say no, but I’m honestly not sure if it’s true or if I’m just desensitized to her attitude

 **Catra** : _To be fair, you have prior experience to angry girls with bad attitudes_

Adora snorts, amused.

 **Me** : Very true

 **Me** : You seem a lot… calmer than you used to be

 **Catra** : _You’re referring to the fact that I didn’t beat your friend to death at the party?_

 **Me** : Was it obvious?

 **Catra** : _Everything about you is obvious_

 _Uh, hopefully not_ everything, she thinks.

 **Me** : I did not come here to be attacked

 **Catra** : _lmao but anyway_

 **Catra** : _Not being a hormonal teenager will do that to you_

 **Catra** : _Not to mention the therapy_

 **Me** : RIGHT

 **Me** : So Micah’s your therapist

 **Catra** : _Yup_

 **Me** : Holy shit. Small world

 **Catra** : _That’s EXACTLY what I said_

 **Me** : How’d you find that out?

 **Catra** : _I may have accidentally ratted her out during a session earlier_

 **Catra** : _Micah was very surprised_

 **Catra** : _Sorry if that’s bad for her_

 **Me** : Nah she’ll be fine

 **Me** : He might ground her

 **Me** : But it’s cool

 **Catra** : _Isn’t she like, in her 20s?_

 **Me** : That was a joke

 **Catra** : _Oh_

 **Catra** : _lol_

 **Catra** : _Well, speaking of Sparkles_

 **Me** : Are you doing that on purpose?

 **Catra** : _What?_

 **Me** : Calling her anything but her actual name

 **Catra** : _Oh absolutely_

 **Me** : Cool just checking

 **Me** : Carry on

 **Catra** : _k_

 **Catra** : _She was right_

Once again, Adora chokes on her beer, nonplussed. Flummoxed. Absolutely _flabbergasted._ _What the fuck is going on right now?_

 **Catra** : _I do need to apologize to you for how I acted last week_

 **Catra** : _But I’d rather not do that over text_

 **Me** : What do you have in mind?

 **Catra** : _Coffee? Dinner? Up to you. My treat._

To the outside observer, Adora’s following actions could be misconstrued as many things: a severe seizure perhaps, maybe demonic possession, or the reaction of a woman desperately, _pathetically_ in love with her childhood friend after being asked to dinner by said friend. She wriggles in her seat, flailing wildly and making a very ugly “HAGKKKFFPP” sound in her throat. Any of these would be a fair assumption.

But, but. _No_. Adora is an _adult_. She does not _pine_ helplessly like a schoolgirl. So she types out a reply:

**Me** : Yes!!!! I’d love to. Tomorrow?? **_NOPE. Too desperate. DELETE._**

 **Me** : I guess so, if you want. **_Are you trying to get her to hate you again? No. DELETE._**

 **Me** : Coffee sounds fantastic. When are you free? **_This…this works. I like this. Enthusiastic, but not desperate. SEND._**

 **Catra** : _Would right now be too desperate?_

And Adora damn near drops her phone. Oh, wait, no, she does drop her phone. _See? There it is on the carpet, along with your jaw. Pick it up, you neanderthal._

 **Me** : Not at all

 **Me** : Full disclosure? I typed out three different replies because I didn’t know how to say yes without sounding desperate

 **Catra** : _I know_

 **Me** : What??? How???

 **Catra** : _When you type, the little. “…” pops up. Yours did the “…” thing about 50 times before you figured out what to say and sent it._

 **Me** : Okay, first, it was 3

 **Me** : Second, okay, that’s fair

 **Me** : Third, right now sounds great. Where do you want to go?

 **Catra** : _How about that café outside the park we met at? It’ll take me a little longer to get there but I can meet you in 30?_

 **Me** : Sounds perfect

 **Catra** : _Perfect_

 **Catra** : _Oh, and Adora?_

 **Me** : Yep?

 **Catra** : _Try not to freeze up in terror when you see me this time. I won’t bite._

Adora snorts again. _Fuck, I wish._

 **Catra** : _Unless you want me to._

And for the third time that night, Adora chokes on her beer.

* * *

Catra makes a beeline to the café, after having fielded questions from Scorpia and Perfuma about where she was going, and _with who?_ And _ooooh what are you going to do? Is it a date? Do you_ liiiiiiiiiike _her? Use protection, Wildcat!_

Children. Infants. Her housemates have the emotional maturity of middle school boys.

Catra shakes her head, irritated with herself. _Unless you want me to?! Stupid._ She knows she shouldn’t have flirted with Adora over a text. Not so soon. Fuck, not at _all_ , ideally. Catra may have gotten better than she used to be, but she’s still not good enough for a relationship, even a casual one, and even if she were, with _Adora?_ Not a chance. There’s too much history there, too much shared grief. Plus, Adora’s an idiot. A very, _very_ hot idiot.

 _No, Catra. Bad Catra. You do_ not _pine over your childhood friend._

There’s the café just ahead, nearly empty. Strange for a Friday night. And there’s Adora, wrapped up in a long red peacoat, scarf pulled over her nose to block out the cold. It’s so cute. She’s sidling from side to side, turning her head like a periscope, on the lookout for Catra. And when she finally makes eye contact, she pulls her scarf down a waves, beaming at Catra. The cold’s gotten to her, her face tinged with red. _Stunning._

_Fuck. Okay, Catra. Fine. You win. You can pine over your childhood friend. Whatever. But play it cool._

“Hey, Adora,” she purrs. _Nice._

“Hey yourself. Come on, it’s cold,” the blonde replies.

“Why didn’t you just wait inside?”

“Good question. I don’t have an answer.”

“Idiot,” Catra chuckles, “It’s freezing outside.”

“You seem fine.”

“I run hot. Cold doesn’t really bother me all that much.”

“Lucky.”

“I don’t know if I’d consider myself lucky.”

Adora pales once again, mouth flapping open and closed like a fish, unsure of how to respond. It’s hilarious. Catra can't help but crack up.

“Adora, relax,” Catra gets out between giggles, “Look. I’m not some broken thing. It happened, I’m here, it is what it is. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”

Adora deflates, laughing nervously. “I know,” she replies, “I just don’t want to screw this up. I finally got a second chance with you, I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be. We’re good, Adora, really. Let’s get some coffee and I can try to fill you in, yeah?”

“Lead the way.”

Catra gets a milk tea, Adora a pumpkin-spiced something that absolutely screams _middle class white girl_ , and they make their way to a table. Adora pulls a chair out of the way so Catra can scoot in, and sits down.

“So,” Catra says with a sigh, “First thing’s first. I’m sorry for how I acted the day we ran into each other. No, no, please, let me finish,” she cuts Adora off before she has a chance to interrupt. “I’ve been in this chair for a long time, and in therapy for nearly as long, and that day I broke every rule I made for myself. After Weaver was thrown in prison, after my recovery, I still had a _lot_ of resentment and anger built up. I took it out on a lot of people who didn’t deserve it. And after all this time, I thought I’d let it all out. But, I don’t know, seeing you just brought it all back in this rush. I didn’t know how to react to it. But _you_ didn’t deserve that, and so I’m sorry.”

“Catra, it’s _okay_. Really. You’ve gone through more than what most people have to deal with in a lifetime in a matter of a few years, and while you were still a _child_. You don’t have to apologize for anything. But if it makes you feel better, I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to stare, or be rude about this,” she says, gesturing to the chair, “I was just so…surprised. I still am.”

“It’s a lot to get used to,” Catra admits.

“Can I ask…how it happened?”

Catra stiffens, suddenly _very_ uncomfortable, and Adora quickly recovers.

“You don’t have to!” she blurts, holding up her hands palms out, “If you don’t want to. If you’re not ready.”

This seems to work, because Catra relaxes a little, still stiff, but just a _tiny_ bit more at ease.

“Actually, hearing you say that makes me trust you more.”

“Catra, you don’t have to force yourself if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“No, you deserve to know. It’s just, it’s a lot, you know? When I told Scorpia, she didn’t look me in the eye for two weeks. But, you know how Weaver was, so it won’t be as hard for you, I think.”

“Okay,” Adora says quietly. She has _no_ clue what to expect.

Catra sighs heavily, shaking a little, then nods.

“So...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO. I have the next chapter, which includes the full story of how Catra ended up disabled, already typed up and waiting. Like, it's done. So I'm wondering if i should go ahead and post it now, or wait and let the suspense hang about for a little while. Let me know what you all think.
> 
> forewarning, next chapter is very much explicit. TW for verbal and physical abuse, blood, language, VERY mild suicidal ideation.
> 
> -jack


	5. i let it in and it took everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And, of course, there it is. The truth of the matter. Catra already knows this. Nothing Catra does will be enough, nothing Catra is will be enough. She’s already been abandoned twice, by her parents and by Adora. Both by choice. Why? Why doesn’t anyone want her? It chokes her, the pain. It burns her lungs and scratches her throat and makes her want to just stop existing, right then and there._
> 
> or
> 
> Catra recounts her past to Adora, who listens and is there for Catra like she always wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we finally find out what happened to catra. this one isn't easy to read through. sorry in advance.
> 
> T/W: mental, verbal and physical abuse, blood, language, mild/implied suicidal ideation
> 
> as usual, let me know what you all think

_"Extending shadows that grip your mind_

_To whisper its doubt like one of a kind"_

_-_ Kadeem France

* * *

**_Seven Years Ago_ **

****

_Catra is seventeen years old, an angry little shit, and nearly finished with her senior year of high school, nearly_ free _from Weaver and this absolute fucking shithole of a town. So close to her escape._

_She’s been at the Weaver Home since she was an infant. Abandoned at the hospital, unloved. Unwanted. Weaver made sure Catra knew this from the moment she could understand what the words meant. They’re her mantra to live by._

_She hasn’t gotten lucky like some of the other kids, like Adora. No perfect little families want to adopt the problem child with a record. No one wants the wild child covered in scars. And Catra doesn’t want them either. she just wants to finish school and run away. That’s her plan._

_T_ _he beatings had already started before Adora was adopted. Weaver would hide it well. She’d catch Catra alone after she got home from school, or at night when Adora was already sleeping, or after dinner in the kitchen when Catra was on dish duty. Weaver would stand at the ready, waiting, hardly able to contain herself._

_Today is no exception._

_“Get_ in _here, girl,” she says, velvet voiced and laced with poison, “Look what I found in your room. Can you tell me what this is?”_

_The envelope in her hand is ripped open, small, and most definitely Catra’s. But she won’t admit it._

_“An envelope, Ms. Weaver,” she says sullenly, resigning herself to what’s coming. She used to fight back, when she was younger and more alive. She can’t bring herself to do it anymore. She only fights when Weaver threatens the other kids, focuses Weaver’s rage on her. She can take it. The little ones don’t deserve this. She does. Weaver’s made sure she knows it. Catra’s bad, born bad, worthless._

_Weaver smiles sweetly. Catra braces herself, but the slap still stings. Her head cocks around, ears ringing from the impact. But no tears. She will_ not _cry._

 _"_ _Do_ not _get smart with_ _me,” Weaver says._

_“Yes ma’am,” Catra agrees._

_“Come with me.”_

_The house is utterly silent. Catra wonders where the other children are, why it feels so empty. And then Weaver leads her into the living room, and she freezes._

_Catra’s belongings, what little there are, are strewn about the room. Essays, books, report cards and old graded tests litter the floor. And on the table are four sheets of paper. Catra’s heart drops. She knows what they are. But how? How did Weaver find them? She’d_ hid _them, for fuck’s sake._

_“Making plans for the future, are we?” Weaver asks._

_Catra’s truly at a loss for words. Why is this a surprise for Weaver? Catra couldn’t stay here past eighteen, even if for some fucked up reason she_ wanted _to. Did Weaver expect her to just not go to college? Not try to do better for herself?_

_“They’re good schools, Catra, dear. I’m surprised you were accepted, given how mediocre your grades are.”_

_That stings a little. Catra’s a straight-A student. Had to be to avoid the cane. How is that mediocre? Catra rolls her eyes._

_“Come here,” Weaver demands. Catra does._

_“I want to make something very clear to you, Catra. Even when you are no longer living in this house, you will_ never _be free. You may go to whichever school you like, find whichever dead-end job you want, work yourself to death, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll never be enough. All the success and money in the world won't change that fact that you are unwanted,” she says._

_And, of course, there it is. The truth of the matter. Catra already knows this. Nothing Catra does will be enough, nothing Catra is will be enough. She’s already been abandoned twice, by her parents and by Adora. Both by choice. Why? Why doesn’t anyone want her? It chokes her, the pain. It burns her lungs and scratches her throat and makes her want to just stop existing, right then and there. To just have Weaver finally kill her and be done with it. She wants it._

_“Am I that hard to love, Ms. Weaver?” Catra sobs._

_Weaver positively purrs._

_"_ _Oh, my dear,” she says, sliding her palm over Catra’s sore cheek, nails digging into the skin, “you are impossible to love.”_

_She grabs the papers off the table, Catra’s college acceptance letters and scholarship offers, and rips them to shreds in front of her._

_Catra doesn’t care anymore. When Weaver tells her to clean up her mess and go to her room, she obeys without a word. There’s nothing more to say._

_She’s sitting cross-legged in her floor hours later, moonlight tinging the corners of her tiny bedroom a pale white, silent as the grave. The other children have been in bed for while, and Catra’s sure Weaver’s sleeping, too. So she silently sneaks down to the kitchen to grab something to eat, just enough to get her by until she goes to school in the morning._

_She’s shoveling her sandwich down when someone tugs on her shirt, and it takes literally_ every _ounce of her self-control to not scream. She whirls around, and there’s Kyle, impossibly small and terrified out of his mind._

 _“What do you_ want _, Kyle?” Catra whispers._

_He’s past tears at this point. He’s hyperventilating, breaths ragged and quick, and she’s sure he’s close to passing out._

_“Kyle, calm down,” she soothes, rubbing his back. He’s skin and bones, just like the rest of them. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”_

_He nods, starting to calm down just enough to form words._

_“L-l-lonnie, Kitty. Basement. P-pipes. Weaver took her d-d-down there yesterday morning,” he manages to choke out, and Catra is frozen solid, instantly panicked. She absently rubs the spot under her collarbone where her own burn scars are._

_Two weeks after Adora was adopted, Catra snapped at Weaver out of misplaced frustration, and before Catra knew what was happening, Weaver had snatched her up by her hair and dragged her down to the basement, Catra screaming and struggling and trying to get free. It didn’t work. Weaver grabbed the the pair of handcuffs off a shelf and looped them around the lowest pipe in the room, forcing Catra’s hands into the cuffs. Catra did_ not _give up her struggling, and when she elbowed Weaver in the ribs, Weaver shoved Catra into the boiler pipe and held her there, Catra shrieking and begging while the rusted steel seared her skin. When Weaver finally let her go, Catra was sobbing incoherently, still begging her mother to stop hurting her._

_Catra is shaken out of her memories by Kyle, who’s pleading with her to help Lonnie. Catra nods and tells him to back to his room, close the door, and get in bed. He nods and runs off silently._

_The basement door is unlocked. Catra slowly makes her way down the stone steps, quietly calling out to Lonnie. Then she sees the younger girl, slumped with her arms linked uncomfortably over her head, still sobbing. Catra’s blood runs cold. Two days. Two days this girl has been down here, cuffed to a scalding hot pipe._

_“Lonnie, sweetheart, I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” she says quietly, voice shaking, and the girl nods through her sobs._

_She tries to find the keys to the handcuffs in the basement, but they’re nowhere to be found._ Weaver probably keeps them on her, and she locks her door at night _, Catra thinks. Fuck. Then she has the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. She runs over to the boiler and turns off every valve she can and waits for the pipes to cool down a bit. She warns Lonnie that it might hurt, and then she starts kicking the pipe. It’s thin, rusted, and flimsy, so it can’t hold for long. But it’s loud. She’s sure Weaver’s going to hear. But she doesn’t care anymore. She’s getting this girl and the other kids and she’s going to run to the nearest police station and tell them everything. She wonders why she’s never done that before, why no one had ever done that before. Not even her teachers, who had to have noticed the cuts, bruises, and scars, ever said a word. It makes her frozen blood boil, and the rage adds strength to every kick._

_A loud clang and then the pipe’s free, water pouring out in a small trickle, still scalding, but Catra’s past caring about that. She scoops Lonnie up in her arms, blood from Lonnie’s raw, blistered wrists staining her shirt, and starts bounding up the stairs back toward the kitchen._

_Nearly makes it, too. She’s_ so fucking close _._

_But Weaver’s there at the top, waiting, poison smile and sharp eyes. She doesn’t say a word._

_She just pushes._

_Catra’s world flips on its side, up being down and down being up, directions reversed, but she hears Lonnie crying out, and cradles the girl in her arms and folds her body around her._

_This is what saves Lonnie’s life, the doctors are sure later._

_It’s also what snaps Catra’s spine as she collides with the stone stairs over and over again, finally hitting the concrete at the bottom._

_She learns later, at the hospital, that Lonnie was able to get around Weaver somehow after falling and ran three miles to the nearest police station. They were inclined to believe her story, given how malnourished she was, and also given the cuffs snapped to her wrists and blood everywhere._

_They get the other children out of the house, detain Weaver, and rush their way to the basement. That’s where they find Catra, hours after the fall, half submerged in lukewarm water, still screaming, begging, pleading for someone, anyone to just_ help, please, _wondering why she can’t feel her legs._

* * *

“After that,” Catra says, “it took a long time to recover. I had fractures in three vertebrae, shattered my hip bones. Normally not a dealbreaker. But since I’d been lying there in the basement for so long, a lot of the damage was irreversible. Took months of physical therapy to even sit up straight, surgeries out the ass to repair what they could. It was a pretty rough time.”

“She just left you down there after she pushed you?” Adora asks, appalled.

“Yeah,” Catra says, “she closed the door to the basement and locked it. The cops had to bust the door down and found me down there. Or, at least, that’s what the doctors told me afterwards. I don’t really remember much after hitting the stairs.”

"Jesus, _fuck._ "

"I know, right?"

She sighs heavily, rubs her face with both hands before slicking her hair back. _I’m so fucking tired_ , she thinks. It’s been a while since she’s had to recount her brush with death, and it drains her down to the dregs every time.

Adora, to her credit, did not get sick during the time Catra repeated the story to her. She paled, of course, choked back a few sobs, gasped and groaned and gripped the table in anger, mouth pressed into a hard line. But she stayed present and didn’t shut down. Kept eye contact with Catra the entire time. Catra appreciates that more than anything. Adora may be an idiot, but she’s strong, mostly dependable. Mostly.

Adora slides her hand across the table, hesitates for a moment a hair’s width away from Catra’s and looks at her. Catra gives her a soft, encouraging smile and takes the other girl’s hand in her own. _This is nice._

“There was enough evidence,” Catra says, “even without me lying in a puddle of blood and water with a broken spine, to convict Weaver a thousand times over. Most of the kids over fifteen testified, including me. It took the jury all of three seconds to find her guilty. And after my bout with physical therapy, I graduated and went to college. Met Scorpia and Perfuma and a few others. Got into WCMX, got my first degree, then my second, then my third. Didn’t want to leave school, honestly.”

“I don't blame you, I loved colle - Wait,” Adora interjects, “Did you say _three degrees_?”

“Uh, yeah. Mechanical Engineering, Business Administration, and Robotics Engineering. I wanted to work in prosthetics, build myself new legs or something,” she says with a chuckle, “but I quickly found out that that idea was shit. I actually just enjoy the work.”

“So you’re like, smart. That’s what you’re telling me,” Adora says, sly smirk on her face, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Adora laughs out loud, and this time, Catra doesn’t get that flash of anger in the pit of her stomach like she did before. It’s a good feeling this time around, warm and soft and comforting. And, not for the first time tonight, she realizes that she’s _missed_ Adora, missed how easily everything comes to them, like it’s natural, even after nine years of separation. They still click, and knowing that means _everything_ to Catra.

“Thank you for telling me, Catra. I know it wasn’t easy for you,” she says.

“It wasn’t so bad this time. Maybe the therapy’s paying off and I’m really starting to let this stuff go. Or maybe you’re easy to talk to. Can’t tell yet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.”

"So what now?" Adora asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what now? Are we friends again? Can we hang out? I can help you bully Glimmer into submission if you like."

Catra giggles at the thought, "No bullying necessary. I'll just talk to her like I talked to you, we'll figure it out. But, yeah, we're friends, if you want to be."

"I do," Adora says, nodding furiously, and looks at Catra brightly, “Well, I don’t know about you, _friend_ , but after that I could use a drink. Wanna grab a beer with me?”

 _Does she?_ It’s not even really a question at this point. _Uh, fuck yes._

“Yeah, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yes, catra had to deal with... a lot. 
> 
> but's she's grown from it, she's healing still. probably always will be. but she's not alone.  
> and adora's back in her life, so that's neat.
> 
> things might just start looking up.
> 
> -jack
> 
> p.s. if you want me to write a "what if? catra had actually beat glimmer's ass at the party" one-shot, let me know. i'll do it for you.
> 
> p.s.s. to anyone who may be wondering, catra loses feeling in her legs right at the thighs. just, you know, in case you were wondering.


	6. ultra-violet violence (what if?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a what if? chapter focused on the party from Chapter 3
> 
> or
> 
> Catra knocks Glimmer the fuck out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all wanted to know what would've happened if catra had kicked glimmer's ass instead of being the bigger person, so here it is.
> 
> the chapter picks up right when scorpia introduces catra to adora at the party, and diverges from there.
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> p.s. oh yeah, T/W for violence, blood, language, relapses

“Adora, Catra. Catra, Adora.”

Adora freezes, eyes locked with the girl in front of her, mentally telling the universe to go fuck itself. Catra’s frozen too, she sees, surprise painted on her tanned face. But, weirdly enough, not angry anymore. _That’s new_ , Adora thinks. And then, quickly, Catra recovers, offers her hand up to Adora, and smiles, eyes crinkling and bright. It’s genuine. Adora’s absolutely shell-shocked.

“Hey, Adora. It’s nice to see you again.” _Is it?_ She shakes Catra’s hand awkwardly, and the girl mouths to her: _Later_.

Glimmer catches that. “Again? Do you two already know each other?”

Adora has never felt more like a deer caught in headlights than she does right at this moment. Literally every person in the room is staring at her and Catra, who looks equally dazed. _Shit, what do I say?_ She considers telling everyone she has to pee again, but she knows it won’t work. So she tries the truth.

“Uh, y-yeah, Catra and I grew up together,” she tells Bow and Glimmer, “This is who I told you about _yesterday_.” She flashes her eyes at them, silently commanding the pair to _Be. Cool._

Unfortunately, Glimmer doesn’t get the memo. Before Adora or Bow can move to intercept, Glimmer is damn near on _top_ of Catra, in her face, hands gripped on the sides of Catra’s wheelchair, voice raised.

“You need to apologize. _Now_ ,” she commands.

_Fuck. Not this again._

Catra looks like someone’s just told her she has cancer, face pale and utterly transfixed on the purple-maned dragon breathing fire down her throat. And that’s when Scorpia finally steps in, ever the peacemaker.

“OOOOOOOKAY GUYS, why don’t we all just take a minute, yeah? Glimmer, back off,” she calls out.

“What?” Glimmer snaps back, “She made Adora cry! She came home sobbing and eating herself alive over this girl, made herself sick over this. I’ve never seen Adora that miserable, ever. She needs to say she’s sorry.”

Bow cuts in, “Glim, you need to chill,” and is promptly ignored.

Catra fidgets in her chair, calming herself. Adora watches as she calms herself, careful not to touch the other girl as she sits up in her seat. Adora tries to grab Glimmer’s arm to pull her back, but Scorpia’s hand latches onto her wrist, and the taller girl just silently shakes her head at Adora. “ _Let her handle this”_ , she whispers.

“Please get off my chair,” Catra says quietly, eyes on the floor.

“I will when you apologize to Adora,” Glimmer shoots back.

Adora sees the heat flash in Catra’s eyes, lightning-fast, burning, but Scorpia’s still got Adora’s wrist in a deathgrip. Everyone in the house is watching this play out, not a soul intervening.

“I’d already _planned_ to if I ever _saw_ her again,” she says with sigh. _That’s what she meant when she said ‘later’,_ Adora thinks, panics. “ _You_ don’t know the whole story, Glitter. I already asked you nicely, so, again, get the _fuck_ off my chair and _out_ of my face,” Catra growls.

Glimmer starts, visibly uncomfortable with the poison in Catra’s voice, and realizes that she’s just tried to intimidate a girl in a wheelchair in front of a bunch of their friends. So, she does the Glimmer thing: tries to save face.

“I know enough,” she says, her eyes narrowed.

“Glimmer, no,” Adora cuts in, trying to mitigate the oncoming disaster.

“No, Adora!,” she spits back, “This is bullshit. Whatever her problems are, they’re hers, not yours. It isn’t your fault she’s in that chair!”

The only reason the house isn’t dead silent at that moment is because Perfuma has her phone connected to a speaker, and “ _Rasputin_ ” is playing while everyone is staring pointedly at Glimmer, even Bow and Adora. _That was too far_.

“Glim-“, _that’s Bow._

“That was out of li-“, _Scorpia._

“How _dare_ y-“, _Perfuma._

“ _Get. Out,”_ Catra demands, pointing a shaking finger at the front door. Her face has turned to stone. Adora’s mortified, frozen, wanting nothing more to grab Catra’s chair and wheel her out of this nightmare. This is _not_ how she wanted this to go.

Scorpia stiffens, slowly starts shuffling toward where Catra's sitting. _Something's wrong_.

Bow tries to salvage the situation.

“Catra, we’re really sorry. Glimmer’s just really protective. She’ll apologize, _right, Glimmer?”_ he finishes between his clenched teeth.

“I said, _get out!_ ” Catra screams, the cold rage rising into scorching fury with each word. Perfuma glares over, pointing at the door. Adora and Bow start backing up toward the door, obeying.

Glimmer has the good sense to look absolutely, undeniably _ashamed_ of herself, but doesn’t leave. Instead she steps forward, _closer_ to Catra. _Glim, what the fuck are you doing?_

“Y-yeah, yes, Catra I’m really so-“

Catra leans forward and wrenches the front of Glimmer’s shirt, yanking the girl down and slamming her forehead into Glimmer’s nose. Glimmer crumples, blood streaming from her nose, and before anyone can even register what the _fuck_ has just happened, Catra’s launched herself out of the chair and onto Glimmer, wailing on the poor girl, raging, fists slamming into Glimmer’s face.

“ _I. SAID. GET. THE. FUCK. OUT,”_ she screams, each word emphasized with a punch.

Scorpia acts first, “Catra, _no_!”, pulling her off of Glimmer. Catra flails in Scorpia’s arms, screaming, and Adora stares blankly at her, not knowing what she’s seeing, not knowing what to _do_.

Catra’s eyes are blank, cold, distant, like she’s not even here. She’s burning holes into Glimmer’s limp form on the ground, lips curled into a snarl and nails biting into Scorpia’s arms, doing her absolutely _damnedest_ to escape the vice and attack.

 _This_ _is what Weaver did to her_ , Adora thinks. _This is what you did to her._

“Adora!,” Perfuma screams, “ _Adora!_ Grab her arms, keep them pinned.”

She obeys with a perfunctory nod, still dazed. Bow’s on the ground, tending to Glimmer, shock and horror plain as day on his face. He’s never seen _anyone_ hit Glimmer before.

Perfuma’s there, palms caressing Catra’s face, cooing, trying to reason with her.

“Catra, sweetie, you’re okay,” she pleads, “You’re here, you’re _here_ , okay? I’m here, and so is Scorpia. Adora’s here too, we’ve got you.”

On hearing Adora’s name, Catra snaps her head up to stare daggers into the blonde pinning her arms down, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Catra, _please_ ,” Adora whispers, “ _you’re okay._ ”

She sees the younger girl start to soften, the tears flowing more freely now, and the rage that Catra had been fueling herself with vanishes, replaced by anguish more pure and awful than anything Adora’s ever seen. Catra curls herself into Scorpia’s neck, hiding, sobbing.

Scorpia and Perfuma just stare at each other for a few moments before nodding at each other and turning towards the rest of their guests.

“We’re so sorry about this, everyone,” Perfuma says, “Catra had a relapse. It hasn’t happened in a long time, and we _definitely_ weren’t expecting it to happen tonight.”

She says this as she looks pointedly at Adora and Bow, who shrink into themselves as they tend to Glimmer.

“We have to make sure Catra and Glimmer are alright, so I have to ask everyone to leave. And please don’t say anything about what happened tonight, thank you,” she finishes, not even bothering to watch them go. She’s back to Catra instantly, scooping her up and out of Scorpia’s arms.

 _“Fuck_ , my nose!” Glimmer shouts, awake and loud, startling everyone left in the house.

Scorpia quickly runs to the bathroom and comes back with a first aid kit, kneels down in front of Glimmer, and looks her over.

“It’s not broken. That’s a relief,” Scorpia says, “but you’ll have some bruising and it’ll be sore.”

“ _Why_ does it feel like someone shoved my face into a meat grinder?” Glimmer asks, surely already knowing the answer.

Scorpia sidles awkwardly, “I don’t want to play a blame game, because you didn’t know. But Catra used to have a problem with people invading her space, getting in her face. When you didn’t leave like she asked you to, it must have triggered her. She grew up in a _very_ violent home and lashing out was her way of coping.”

“She hit me?!”

“She headbutted you, yes.”

“She knocked me out cold with _one_ headbutt.”

“Yeah.”

Glimmer sits silently for a moment, thinking, before nodding slowly.

“Respect,” she relents.

If Scorpia were any less horrified by what had transpired tonight, she’d laugh. But she isn’t, and doesn’t. She stands and walks back over to her wife, who’s sitting at the dinner table, Catra still wrapped up her arms, shaking, whimpering. Perfuma’s in tears, too, not knowing what else to do other than hold the girl in her arms.

Glimmer looks over too, regret and guilt plastered on her damaged face.

“That Weaver woman really did a number on her,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” Adora admits sadly, “and I think tonight just made things a lot worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just remember, you asked for this
> 
> so yes, if catra had fought glimmer, she would have had a massive relapse and probably would've had to go through years of rehabilitative therapy to get back to where she was at the beginning of the fic. hope you're all happy.
> 
> let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> -jack


	7. an update (not a chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick little update letting you all know where i'm at

Hello, everyone!

_**Wow**_.

I mean, really. Wow. I'm floored by the response this fic has gotten in a few short days. I've received so many thoughtful, helpful and supportive comments from so many of you. And nearly 2,000 hits in three days?! I'm amazed. Honestly. I really hope that I can maintain the quality of the writing and story and meet your expectations. Which is actually why I'm making this update, to fill you all in.

So, I posted the first six chapters in three days. When the idea for this story first popped in my head, I didn't think it'd really go anywhere. I was just a lurker on this site before then, chugging Red Bull in my pajamas and burning through as much Korrasami and Catradora as possible in the wee hours of the morning. Then the idea of the last paragraph of the first chapter sort of formed itself in my head, Adora's idiotic question and Catra's cold dejection and departure, and I went from there. And it _flew_ by, really. But last night I was writing and I felt myself starting to burn out a little, just a small bit, a little "Uhhh I kinda _really_ don't want to write right now," and so I stopped. Took the day off and relaxed a little, and now I'm back and will be setting up a schedule for myself. 

I'll be updating this story on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, presumably. If for some reason I can't update, I'll be sure to let you know. I don't see this fic being a massively long one, maybe 50,000 or so words, if that. 

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I'm so grateful to the people who've read this, left comments, kudos, bookmarked it, etc. I love you for it and I hope you keep reading in the future.

-Jack

P.S. quick special thank you to [Sathroe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sathroe/pseuds/Sathroe), [Eldritch_Sardine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldritch_Sardine/pseuds/Eldritch_Sardine), and [redpepprflakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpepprflakes/pseuds/redpepprflakes) for their amazingly kind and helpful words, and also to [InErosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InErosion/pseuds/InErosion), whose absolutely fucking _phenomenal_ work _[Stumble Home With Me?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985477/chapters/60491779) _inspired me to start writing this fic. 


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